armor

sometimes i feel broken.
sometimes i feel like i cover myself in armor.
sometimes i feel like i'm the only one.
sometimes i feel crazy.

and then today happens.

i hear a young man say "everyone's a little broken; we wouldn't be people if we weren't."

--i feel some armor slide away.

i get an email from someone i don't know telling me that she read my blog and mentioned "I had a particularly bad day today and am feeling quite alone, and although there is no purpose to my email other than to tell you that I really admire your courage, typing this out makes me feel a bit more connected to the universe."

--i don't feel so crazy.

the email i received was from a young woman with an eating disorder and talked about how she felt alone, about some of the shame she carries, and about how she didn't feel courageous enough to tell some of the people in her life--specifically those at work.

the email made me feel so many things: empathy, sadness, admiration, gratitude... and kind of like i was a fake. yes, sometimes my blog feels courageous. but sometimes it feels like i get to hide behind it because i'm being so open here. like i have built some armor up through all the baring.

she complimented me on my career status and about how open i was with my eating disorder. it's true that i talk about my struggles and recovery status with people at work i barely know. but there are also things i don't tell them. like when i'm late to a meeting because i had to run a little longer to make my mind feel sane before i was allowed to shower and go to the meeting. or like when i schedule things around a yoga class i feel like i just have to get to or my soul will freak out. these things could be termed "taking care of myself," or they could be termed "selfish," or even, dare i say it, "characteristic of someone with an eating disorder."

there's STUFF. there will probably always be stuff. i've let go of a lot--and i am very proud of that. but there's still the little broken pieces i keep finding under the rug; the little shells of armor stuck to my skin that haven't all chipped away. and finding them can be hard.

in some ways, i don't know where this blog is going. am i trying to build up more armor for later? am i trying desperately to feel as courageous as this lovely reader portrayed me to be? what am i trying to do?

i think it's the shame that really gets to me. i carried so much shame about binging and purging... for so long. i still do. and there is so much stigma around so many mental health issues, and about seeking help for them, that i get angry at that shame. i get angry that it even exists. and when i read this email with the words "embarrassment and shame" included in it, i felt that familiar stinging in my heart.


it's only talking, sharing, and giving a face to a health issue that can de-stigmatize it. my shame disintegrates when i don't give it any power. when i told my mom about bulimia, when i told my co-worker about my bulimia, when i told my yoga class about my bulimia, when i post a blog about bulimia on Facebook, i lose the shame. it disappears with the broken pieces under the rug, it hides under the small pieces of armor still remaining.

i can't fix the world; i can't even fix me. but i also know that i don't need to. i can let go of the armor; i know i'm already whole. and i have hope that the world is ready for that.

and, to every blog reader, but especially L: the world is ready; i believe in you.

confessions

i've avoided dealing with difficult things for a majority of my adult life. so secrets have been a huge part of my life: sometimes i hide feelings; sometimes i hide opinions; sometimes i hide vulnerabilities.

but secrets cause schisms. sometimes you don't even know the schism is a result of the secret: for years my mom was driving me a little crazy. or maybe a lot crazy. but she didn't have the same effect on my sister, and i couldn't understand it. i didn't know what was causing this disruption.

then, earlier this year, when i finally told my mom about bulimia, after hiding it from her for eight years, our relationship seemed to immediately change. i didn't react so quickly to everything she said. i didn't take offence to every question she asked.

could it really all have been because i stopped hiding that secret? umm, yeah. i think so.

example 2: i didn't tell my husband when i kissed someone on a conference trip years ago. (schism created.) months later he said to me: it seems like you've been different since that trip; did something happen? that was my second chance, but i still didn't confess. (schism deepened.)

now i can't say for sure that this incident was a causal agent in the decline of our marriage, but i can guess that things like this were.

mainly my overall avoidance of being uncomfortable has contributed to keeping me from ever feeling fully comfortable. and i mean in most every relationship in my life.

so my big confession here, for everyone in my life: i am sorry for every time i hid things from you. i'm sorry for not being present enough in myself to be present in our relationships.

every time i tell a little lie ("sorry, class, the grades are late because of a bug in the system!"), i'm putting more armour up. i'm blocking the light.

but i want to change. i want to live in integrity, live honestly, and consistently choose love. and i want you to call me on it when you see me avoiding or hiding in the shadows.

kelli plays this song in class a lot: breathe me.
"Help, I have done it again/
I have been here many times before/
Hurt myself again today/
And the worst part is there's no one else to blame."

yup. so. now. new plan.

recognize the shadow.
crack open.
let the light in.
watch the shadow dissipate.
live in light.
live in love.